That morning, the clamor outside was unusually chaotic.
It was different from the usual rooster crows signaling the start of the day or the bustling noises of half-asleep servants rushing about.
A low, anxious murmur permeated the castle, seeping through the thick stone walls into my bedroom.
'What's going on? Did the tenant farmers get into another fight over field boundaries?'
I pushed aside the coarse linen blanket and sat up in bed. The cold dawn air prickled my bare skin, sending shivers down my spine.
"Ugh, it's freezing."
A thin nightshirt offered no protection against the chill.
Sharka would normally bring warm wash water soon, but it was still too early for that.
That was when it happened.
Bam!
Konrad, the steward who would usually knock politely to announce himself, flung the door open as if trying to break it down.
"Young master! Young master, this is bad!"
Konrad's voice trembled violently. His graying hair was disheveled, and beads of cold sweat dotted his forehead.
"Konrad? What is it? Calm down and tell me clearly."
Konrad steadied his ragged breathing before continuing.
"Th-the family soldiers who marched out with the lord... they've returned!"
"What?"
I hurriedly dressed and headed to the inner courtyard.
Dozens of servants and soldiers had already gathered there, murmuring uneasily.
And at the focus of their grim gazes...
In the center of the courtyard stood about thirty armored soldiers.
Some leaned heavily on their comrades' shoulders, while others propped themselves up with broken spears or shields as crutches.
It was a pitiful sight at a glance.
'...This is.'
They clearly hadn't returned victorious. The scene screamed routed remnants.
A heavy silence descended over the courtyard.
Then, my eyes met those of a knight in the midst of the bedraggled group—the only one without his helmet.
His face was unfamiliar, but faint memories from this body's original owner supplied his name.
Knight Captain of House Sternberg and my father's oldest comrade-in-arms.
Kuno von Friedenberg.
The moment he spotted me, Sir Kuno dropped to his knees as if collapsing. His armor clanged against the gravel floor.
"Young master!! Sob... The lord! The lord...!"
"My father? What happened to my father?!"
"In the Battle of Vyšehrad! He fell heroically, ensnared by the vile schemes of those treacherous, cowardly Hussites!"
Fallen in battle.
In that instant, a strange sensation washed over me, as if all sounds in the world suddenly faded away.
Riiiing—
The murmuring servants, Kuno's wails, the cold wind—all grew distant and muffled.
Sorrow? Not yet. It was more like a numb shock, as if a massive blow had severed all thought circuits.
Thirty-two years of memories as Park Kang-jun. Mere days as Ulrich von Sternberg.
All jumbled chaotically in my mind, stripping away any sense of reality.
'...Father's dead?'
A hazy image surfaced from this body's memories: the stern, gruff middle-aged noble who was always so unyielding.
I'd worried whether I'd ever be able to call him 'Father' when he returned home.
But to think he'd meet such a pointless end before we could even properly face each other.
Kuno's anguished cries echoed through the courtyard.
"We couldn't recover the lord's body! Please execute this disloyal wretch who returned alive in shame!"
Kuno began slamming his forehead against the bare ground like a madman.
Thud, thud.
Blood streamed from his brow, staining the dirt, but I couldn't even think to stop him. I just stared blankly at the scene.
'...Calm down. This isn't the time to get emotional. Stay rational, assess the situation coldly.'
Cold reason overtook emotion first—a habit ingrained from my past life as a researcher and engineer.
I took a slow, deep breath. Then, piecing together Kuno's explanation, I began asking questions.
"Sir Kuno. So, you're saying the Holy Crusade, assembled in the name of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, was defeated by a rebel rabble of mere peasants and heretics?"
At my question, Kuno finally lifted his face. His eyes held an incomprehensible terror.
"Yes, young master. Those wicked heretics... They formed walls with bizarre wagons and rained lightning bolts from behind them! Our knights' cavalry charges were utterly powerless against that fortress!"
Bizarre wagons and lightning weapons. One thing immediately came to mind.
'Wagon fortress... Wagenburg tactics. Combined with primitive gunpowder weapons like hand cannons. Crude and cumbersome still, but even a peasant can topple a knight with a single shot. A game-changer.'
A page of history Zdenek had once mentioned was unfolding before my eyes.
I quickly counted Sir Kuno and the soldiers behind him before asking.
"By my reckoning, our house's forces numbered ten knights and three hundred soldiers. Including you, only thirty have returned here?"
"...I have no face to show, none at all!"
Nine-tenths of the house's private army had vanished into the war. Practically annihilated.
'How badly did they get crushed...'
I swallowed dryly and posed the final, most crucial question.
"...And so, the rebels who won the battle... They're now marching straight for our territory?"
Kuno raised his head with desperate eyes and shouted.
"Yes! Those ruthless Hussites will soon come charging here on their wave of victory! You must flee at once, young master! The Sternberg line cannot end like this!"
The situation was clear.
House head deceased. Garrison forces effectively wiped out.
And the approaching enemy: thousands of rebels with sky-high morale.
With the picture complete, one starkly vivid phrase crystallized in my mind.
"Ha, we're fucked."
Crash.
The sound of my peaceful, comfortable retirement life shattering to pieces.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Flee? Of course, that was the first option that popped into my head.
But I quickly erased it. Reason was colder and crueler than instinct.
'Where to? In this whole mess, is there truly anywhere safe?'
The entire Kingdom of Bohemia was a boiling cauldron right now.
The Imperial faction supporting Sigismund von Luxembourg, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire and King of Bohemia.
And the Hussites following the religious reformer Jan Hus.
The nation torn between two factions, slaughtering and plundering each other in a horrific civil war.
In such chaos, a landless noble with no territory, soldiers, or coin was nothing more than a plump lamb tossed to starving wolves.
Moreover, my late father—the previous head—had stripped the house bare to answer the king's crusade call.
House Sternberg had loyally served the emperors for generations, and heeding the Emperor's crusade summons was a noble's sacred duty.
Refusing would be betrayal of the Emperor and a stain on the house's honor.
The problem was the house finances had been strained lately. Father fulfilled his duty as a loyal vassal, but at the cost of emptying our coffers.
All that remained were this dilapidated old stone castle, barren lands, and starving peasants.
Abandon even that and run? I'd truly have nothing left.
Even if I luckily found refuge with another Imperial lord, I'd end up a powerless hanger-on, eating scraps for life.
'One conclusion. Fight and die here, or somehow survive.'
The choice was clear. The problem was how.
Block thousands with thirty-odd routed soldiers? That was like an egg against a rock.
Then, one glimmer of hope surfaced in my mind.
The only one I could turn to for aid—the very source of this disaster.
"Janos, fetch parchment and ink."
"Sending a letter, young master?"
I nodded.
"I need to inform His Majesty Sigismund of the situation and request support."
King of Germany and Hungary.
Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire.
Rightful heir to the Bohemian throne.
Sigismund von Luxembourg.
He was likely regrouping his scattered army in the mining town of Kuttenberg by now, to avenge the humiliating defeat at Vyšehrad. History said as much.
If that man retained even a shred of conscience, he couldn't ignore the son of a vassal who'd given his life for him.
No, this wasn't about conscience. It was purely political and pragmatic.
If Sigismund abandoned House Sternberg here, it would set a dangerous precedent: that loyal service to the king ends in abandonment.
He wouldn't make such a foolish choice. He couldn't.
I repeated that to myself as I unrolled the parchment on the cold stone table.
Then, with utmost care, I began weaving sentences, every word laden with flattery.
⟨ Royal Missive ⟩ To His Imperial Majesty Sigismund, King of the Romans, Lord of Germany and Hungary, and rightful sovereign of Bohemia.
Ulrich von Sternberg, son of Petr von Sternberg—Your Majesty's most loyal vassal, who recently perished as a martyr in the Battle of Vyšehrad for the Lord's will and Your Majesty's glory—takes up his pen in deepest grief.
My father devoted his life to the oath of House Sternberg, serving Your Majesty faithfully to his final breath, never letting Your Majesty's banner fall before the heretics' blades.
Though his death brings irrecoverable sorrow to our house, as a holy sacrifice for Your Majesty's cause, I regard it as our greatest honor. Yet, Your Majesty, With my father's passing, our house's shield lies broken.
Our elite troops fell alongside him on the field, and our empty coffers cannot even mend the boots of the survivors. Worse, the vile Hussite heretics now seek to strangle our weakened house in this moment of vulnerability. Merciful sovereign! We stand like a lonely castle besieged from without and within.
In Your gracious sight, behold our unbroken loyalty and grant us a ray of salvation. Even a single band of knights—no, a lone knight bearing Your Majesty's banner—would suffice.
Show us but a token of Your presence among us, and we shall defend this castle to our last drop of blood, securing a foothold for when Your Majesty's army reclaims Bohemia.
Remember the blood and loyalty House Sternberg has offered Your Majesty.
Your Majesty's eternal vassal, Ulrich von Sternberg
I smiled in satisfaction, scanning the letter once more.
Perfect. At least within these walls of Sternberg Castle, no one else could craft words to sway the king more effectively.
'My high school language scores, college reports, and company writing skills shining here.'
Janos, peeking over my shoulder, widened his eyes in admiration.
"Young master, that's incredible. When did you learn to write like this...?"
"Enough chatter. Select the fastest, most reliable courier in the castle right now and send this to His Majesty in Kuttenberg."
I rolled the parchment, pressed my signet ring bearing the house crest into sealing wax, and handed it to Janos.
Janos nodded.
"Understood. But young master... What if His Majesty really sends just one knight?"
I let out a hollow laugh.
"Crazy talk? For the Holy Roman Emperor to respond to a loyal vassal's son's plea with a single knight would be a foolish blow to his own prestige and authority. You think he'd take my words at face value and send exactly one?"
...Unless he sent nothing at all.
I shoved the ominous thought creeping in aside.
Worrying wouldn't change anything. For now, this letter was my only hope.
The king's reply arrived exactly three days later.
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